


Some Dreams Are Anything But Sweet

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts [63]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dragon Age: Origins Quest - Broken Circle, F/M, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Mind Manipulation, Psychological Torture, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 00:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19896976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonage.Prompt 2: “You have no power over me.” and “You sure about that?”The battle at Ostagar was fought and lost. What few survivors that managed to make their way back to their homes spread the word of the deaths of King Cailan and the Grey Wardens. Back in Kinloch Hold, things have gone very, very wrong. One lone knight struggles to survive while dealing with grief and a visitor that has anything but good intentions.





	Some Dreams Are Anything But Sweet

He shivered and kept chanting the words to the prayer over and over, gripping it tightly like a drowning man might cling to a rope sent his way. His hands were clasped tightly to the point of pain, a way to tell reality from fantasy.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.” The words fell from his lips, just as they had dozens, if not hundreds, of times before. Something to focus on, something other than the sounds of bodies being mutilated and the screams of the dying.

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker’s will is written.” He tried to not think of the blood of his brothers and sisters on the walls and floor around him, nor the smell of it. If he lost focus, they would have him, just like the others. He will stay strong, for his sake, for the others who… who…

The silken purr of a voice returned. “My, my. The pretty bird continues to sing his sad little song.”

The rest of the creature came into view. It did not bother to cloak itself in the image of another being. What appeared to be a scantily clad woman with skin the color of lilacs, a pair of immense twisting black horns that sprouted from just above her brow, and magenta flames that acted as if they were hair stood before him. It used a single delicate finger to lift his chin and force him to meet her black-and-gold gaze.

“I could help you. I could make all this pain, this… unpleasantness you feel go away. You could know something far sweeter if you would just co-operate. Have you changed your mind, hm?”

He twisted his features into a snarl. “You have no power over me!”

Plump lips twisted themselves into a smile before revealing a set of teeth with exaggerated incisors. A tinkling of bell-like laughter followed. “Are you sure about that?”

The faint scent of lilacs tickled his nose before he opened his eyes. A soft warm hand tugged at his. He looked down to see the owner of that hand. She grinned up at him in greeting, silver eyes twinkling as they so often did just before she got up to mischief.

“Come on, we haven’t much time! They won’t miss us if we’re not here when they get back. At least not for a little while,” her voice held a note of playful pleading. Her eyes went from him to a nearby closet and back again, a silent plea to _come and play_ plainly evident in them.

His one shame, his one failing as a templar: he’d gone and developed feelings for the First Enchanter’s apprentice, who eagerly reciprocated them. The one apprentice the Knight-Captain had very specifically told him to mind himself around. No matter how many times he swore to himself to do better, the resolve always melted the moment they were alone together. A heart can be a stubborn thing, two of them even more so.

Before he knew it, he was pulled into the closet and she all but leaped into his arms. One kiss became two, each of them lingering and making his senses dull to everything else. Only… something didn’t seem right. Why were her robes blue and violet? Apprentices were the only ones in the tower who wore those colors. He pulled back from an attempted third kiss, his senses singing that all of this was _wrong._

“Away from me, demon!”

“Cullen, what’s wrong?” the creature that had the utter gall to wear _her_ face asked, doing its best to look surprised and hurt.

 _That is not her! She was Harrowed! I was the one picked to… to… not that it mattered, she succeeded! She wasn’t an apprentice the last time we were together!_ He clung to the thought with ferocity.

“You are not her! Get out of my head, demon! Leave!”

The closet shimmered and vanished, replaced by the antechamber that stood before the room where the Circle conducted its Harrowings and Rites of Tranquility. He took deep breaths, attempting to focus his mind and keep that creature _out._ The demon in question wore an unimpressed expression.

“Why do you struggle, little bird? I’m only offering you comfort. Any sane person would take it in a situation like this.”

“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond.” He squeezed his eyes shut as he uttered the words, focusing on each syllable.

“Again with that tired old song, my little bird! Why not sing something more pleasing? I could even help you find the inspiration for it,” the demon crooned in her too-silken voice.

He pressed his mouth into a thin line, determined to not give the creature the pleasure of a response. Taking a chance to open his eyes had been a mistake, however. The demon was kneeling in front of him and grinned as her black-and-gold eyes met his.

He blinked and found himself in one of the many haunts they used to meet in secret, gazing out a rare window that wasn’t out of arm’s reach. Lilac once again teased his sense of smell, coming from the long silky black hair of the woman whose head he was resting his chin upon. He had his arms wrapped around her while she rested her back against his armor-clad stomach and chest. Her new green-and-gold healer’s robes were made of a far softer material than the more coarse fabric the apprentice robes were cobbled together from. He forced the idle wondering thought of what it would be like to caress her bare skin from his mind. No need to make his blood run even hotter than it already did in her presence.

It wasn’t that his affections were unwanted; quite the opposite, in fact. She sought him out whenever the chance presented itself. Sometimes they would just talk, often about books they’d read, seeing as they lived in what was possibly one of the largest libraries in the kingdom. Other times, comfort was needed in the form of being wrapped in the arms of someone who cared, or being snogged senseless enough to forget about what caused the comfort-seeking in the first place. She confessed to being open to the idea of doing more than that some time ago, but only if he was of a like mind. If he was not, she wouldn’t push the matter.

That confession battered his resolve to not indulge in… carnal things with a mage that was technically one of his charges. While it was still mostly intact, it was clinging by fingertips. He’d heard rumors of other templars who gave in to temptation and had such dalliances. It usually never ended well for either party, if the gossip was to be believed. Good sense said one thing, but his heart and physical desires said something else. Many of his morning baths were cold, in hopes of calming what had been aroused by dreams.

“These rumors of war are scaring me,” she said in a small voice, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Somehow, I doubt anyone finds those rumors particularly comforting,” he said before he could stop the words from sliding out of his mouth. He cursed silently.

A faint snort answered him. Saved by a twisted sense of humor, it would seem.

“What if it comes here? What if… what if the king actually calls on us? I’ve read historical accounts where Circles had to go to war. I don’t have any talent for fighting. The magic I’m good at doesn’t lend itself to that very well.”

 _That’s not true,_ something in his mind insisted vehemently. He squeezed the person in his arms, trying to buy time as his mind fought to shake off what felt like a thick cocoon of cobwebs.

“I’m so scared. When I think about it, I just… freeze up,” she continued.

 _You’re not Sevarra,_ he thought with certainty. _She **wanted** to go, was eager to go. She was convinced she could save lives. She wanted to prove herself. And then…_

He remembered the rumors, which later proved to be fact. She’d helped Jowan, a blood mage, destroy his phylactery and escape from the tower! While foolish, they weren’t the actions of someone who let fear keep them paralyzed. She would’ve been executed, were it not for a Grey Warden who happened to be visiting the Circle. The Warden exercised the Right of Conscription on her. She’d been spared the headsman’s ax, but at the cost of being taken to Ostagar to formally join the Grey Wardens. The battle at Ostagar had not gone well. According to the few survivors who trickled back to the Circle, it was a crushing defeat. All of the Grey Wardens perished alongside King Cailan.

This demon was wearing the face of a dead woman. It had the gall to wear **her** face and try to play its tricks! On **him!** Anger flared to life in his belly like a flame and spread outward, licking at every bit of kindling it could find in his heart and mind.

“Away from me, demon!” He shoved the demon away from him and backed up several steps, silently lamenting his lack of a weapon.

Not-Sevarra looked at him in shock. “Cullen, what’s come over you?”

“Silence! I’ll not listen to anything you say. Now begone!” he shouted. _How dare it! How dare that creature profane the memory of the beloved dead!_

The illusion faded and was replaced by the antechamber once more. His visitor was nowhere in sight. Perhaps it’d grown tired of prey that fought back and went in search of someone less resistant? He sank to his knees and shuddered. Clasping his hands tightly, words tumbled from his lips again.

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker’s will is written…”


End file.
